


Ships in the Night

by heyfrenchfreudiana



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Basically a romanogers au tbh, F/M, RPF, Slow Burn, i dont know how to tag this, shipping hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 16:19:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10136099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyfrenchfreudiana/pseuds/heyfrenchfreudiana
Summary: They’d always been like two ships passing in the night. For as long as she’d known him, it had never been the right time.It took thirteen years, six movies, too many failed relationships, and one night at the Oscars for Scarlett Johansson to finally say yes to Chris Evans and to what her heart was saying all along.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My shipper's heart exploded on the night of the Oscars so here we are. Mind the usual disclaimer for RPF- this is how I imagine things but I am very much writing characters and there is no way any of this is even remotely accurate (let me dream ;__;). Thank you to every single person who cheered this fic on.

_Will you stay with me my love_  
_For another day?_  
_'Cause I don't want to be alone,_  
_When I'm in this state._  
_Will you stay with me my love?_  
_'Til we're old and grey._  
_'Cause I don't wanna be alone._ _  
_ When these bones decay…

_-“Run”, Daughter_

_“Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.”_

_― Edna St. Vincent Millay_

 ***

They’d always been like two ships passing in the night. For as long as she’d known him, it had never been the right time. Neither of them were very good at being alone, something he told her his therapist called “borderline love addiction,” and on the rare times when they were both...unattached… Scarlett didn’t want to ruin a good thing, didn’t want to be with Chris that way. She had a few reasons for it, starting with the distinct idea that he wasn’t really her type (my god, the times they’d shared a smoke or made out in someone’s trailer, those were good times but it wasn't as though he was the kind of person to have an actual _relationship_ with, too much of a boy, too busy with his own drama).

_(“Why don’t we hang out more,” he slurred, his head on her lap, eyes closed as she carded her fingers through his hair. They’d just wrapped up filming, were getting ready to go back to the Real World and their Real lives and significant others. The wrap called for a celebration, of course. One that started with cast and crew and ended up in her hotel room, neither of them sober enough to make wise choices. It was bittersweet, those things were sometimes, especially when working with Chris. He was like a brother. A brother with benefits, mind you. Someone who made her laugh and made her feel needed. He’d give her that look, the one that said he’d been thinking too hard about a line or the way something in the script looked. The look that said he was having a panic attack and that he was about to jump out of his fucking skin if she didn’t rescue him. That look that tugged at her heart because she hated babysitting men but loved the way his body relaxed when she stole him away from set to go get a burger and just walk away…_

_“Because we are both with other people and because you are a man-child and I am a grown-up,” she teased, emphasizing each syllable in those two labels. She shifted when he’d curled his hand into her thigh possessively._

_“Fuck you, I’m older than you,” he huffed, though she could see that he was smiling._

_“So what? Doesn’t mean I’m gonna call you Daddy,” she rolled her eyes and then rolled her hips because he’d started walking fingers toward the zipper of her jeans._

_“Not asking you to,” he smirked. “Not gonna say no if you do either…”_

_“Ugh,” she groaned. “We’d be so horrible together.” He made her laugh and she loved singing with him, loved their banter. But it’s not like that could be sustainable, she was hardly the sort he usually dated. And even if he said she was real, that she was great to work with because she made him think, all that meant really was that they worked well together._

_Well, and he had a great mouth. A great mouth that was pressing kisses along her belly as he opened her pants up. God what a great mouth._

_It couldn’t work, starting with the fact that she was actually dating someone. That he’d been spotted making out with someone else in a club in Hollywood. It wouldn’t work, it couldn’t._

_“Whatever. Horrible, awful, fucking shit,” he murmured, his hand reaching up under her blouse and she sighed because he wasn’t really asking for much more than a quick fuck, something she’d happily give anytime he asked.)_

_***_

They’d both been young when they met, and him maybe a little more green than her because when he gave her his number, he looked like he’d actually believe she’d call, that they’d still keep in touch after they’d moved on to their next projects. That was against the rules, mostly, for Scarlett because fucking your costars was one thing but having a relationship with them was quite another.  

She never called him, repeating to herself over and over how very much not her type he was, and she pretended not to care about the different women he was photographed with. He walked around like this twenty-something _kid_ with stars in his eyes and he spent entirely too much time drinking and going out to exactly the places Scarlett avoided. She pretended not to care and when she saw him again, they both had a few more years behind them and he smiled his goofy smile as they read their cheesy lines together on set. She didn’t ask him about his girlfriend and he let her keep the secrets she had about her own love life. And at the end of the day when he was knocking on her door with a bag of tacos and a bottle of wine, she realized she actually did care a little.

When he _was_ her type… when they were sitting on the couch in her trailer just talking and he was so _vulnerable_ and she was trying not to stare at his lips because she knew how he tasted ( _just a feather in the old cap, she’d later say, even though no one else kissed her the way he did. No one else and dammit, she’d tried. She’d looked.)_

When he _was_ her type, he was with someone else.

***

_(“She's… I feel like I've always known her…” he gushed over the phone and she cringed. He always said that, had said that about her even. It was genuine, she knew that he meant it every time because he wore his heart on his sleeve and loved hard, and so she couldn’t rightfully feel jealous, not when she was no better. She held back commentary because she wanted it to work, even as she was drowning in the death of her own relationship. Again. Fuck._

_“I like her,” Scarlett added, the genuine truth because Slate was smart and because she liked seeing pictures of him happy._

_“So this USO tour… I'm buying you a beer…”_

_She said she’d settle for a big hug, which he gave the moment he saw her at the airport.)_

_***_

She nearly went to the Oscars alone, not wanting to go with anyone else. The standby was Joe, he’d gone with her before and she knew he liked to dress up, liked the ceremony.  She’d be lying if she wasn't listening for gossip on who Chris was taking. She almost called him to ask him if it was crazy for them to go together. She held back because it _was_ crazy, because it was too soon for either of them to jump into that fire.

She wanted to call Chris but she called her agent instead. He was predictably thrilled, the safe choice.

***

( _“I don’t think human beings are monogamous creatures by nature.”_

_She’d countered that with an explanation that she believed in monogamy and soulmates and true love, but what people heard was something else, of course. And it didn't help that she’d said it with the memory of them fresh in her mind, in her heart_

_Memories of frustrated kisses in her room, her hands gripping his hair tight and tears stinging her eyes because this was wrong, because they were better than this, better than the mistake about to be made…_

_“We should stop,” she mumbled into his mouth. She didn't want to stop, her heart broken into a million pieces for her marriage, for Rose. It was foolish but being there, feeling his arms around hers softened that blow, his tongue tracing her lips, pushing into her mouth. He tasted like beer and pizza. It made her dizzy, reminded her of how bad this was no matter how much she wanted._

_“Why?” he asked, stopping to search her eyes with his own. “Why? This is our time. It's finally our time…”_

_Breakups. Breakups on both sides, both deaths not yet even cold and she wanted to take the leap forward but the wounds were still fresh. Chris-- their friendship-- was too important to lose in a needy rebound._

_“This is a disaster. It would be a disaster. You know that,” she whimpered, her head and her heart fighting to the death for it. “I’m not ready for…”_

_“Dammit,” he cursed and this time, he didn’t hide how frustrated he was. “I’m tired of sitting on the sidelines, Scarlett. You always say that. You know we… fuck. You know we’d be good.”_

_“I’m going through a divorce, Chris. I’m not in the right place for this,” she stepped back, hurt that he was hurt. Angry that he couldn’t see her side of things. “And it’s not like you are in a clean house either. Grow up.”_

_His jaw clenched and he looked down, breathing hard and she knew he was trying to be political about it. She wished they could but they weren’t kids anymore, things were complicated. She had baggage, she had responsibilities. It wasn’t like a casual fuck in someone’s trailer anymore, the kind of thing that was easy to keep secret because it meant nothing. It meant everything. What would the press say if they found out? That she’d ended things with Romain just so she could hop in another relationship with Chris. She could see the tabloid reports- Scarlett leaves husband for Captain America. Is Scarlett too busy having fun to be a mother. Did the Black Widow and Captain America have an affair? Christ, what a nightmare._

_“Scarlett, it doesn’t have to be so complicated, who the fuck even cares…” Chris said, teeth clenched, and his eyes so angry and hurt._

_“You have no idea how complicated…” Fuck, the tears were right there and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. “I have to think about Rose. What is your collateral damage? What do the two of you share? A potted plant maybe? I don’t get that kind of clean break…”_

_He softened then and hung his head down. “I know. I just… why? Why does it always have to be like this?”_

_She knew what he meant and she collapsed onto the bed and sighed. “Because that’s life. You don’t always get what you want, Chris. You know that.”_

_He sat next to her and she lay her head on his shoulder, her mind on her daughter, on the mess of her life and how even though she knew she’d be fine, things were still raw. Wounds still ran deep. Wounds that wouldn’t go away just because Chris was there, not that she didn’t value the way she felt in his arms._

_She wanted to ask him to wait. She wanted to ask him to give her some time. They’d start working on Infinity Wars soon. It wasn’t like she was going anywhere. She wanted to ask him to wait but she held her tongue because she couldn’t safely give him a timeline and because of the small voice that got louder, each time saying she needed to work through the mess of it all by herself. )_

_***_

**CHRISSY** : shana has a thing for rose, how can i get it to you

Scarlett sighed and smiled to herself, before tapping out a quick reply that they’d have to get together after the awards. Of course his sister was bringing something, of course she was. It was one of her favorite things about Chris. His family, who very much treated her like she was family. Like she was normal. Her heart tugged and she tried not to think about the other side of collecting an unnecessary and completely sweet gift from Chris’s sister. Meeting up meant sharing the same space. She hoped, her mind on the USO tour and how hard it had been to say no, that things would pick up and be as they’d always been.

The truth was that she’d replayed the night in her room with him over and over.  It stuck to her and when she thought about it, she felt like a bee drowning in honey. It had always ever been “no” and the truth was that she wasn’t quite sure why she kept saying that. It kept her awake at night, the idea that maybe what she was looking for and needed was right there, right in front of her and she still was saying no. She made the same list as always and every time, she found herself wanting to say yes even still. All of her reasons- the divorce, his own fucked up love life, every little thing she’d always nitpicked him about- all of those reasons felt like bullshit because…

Because he knew her. He knew when she was lying, knew when she was bullshitting herself. How many times had he texted her or called her or sat with her and called her out on her own shit. How many times had he been there? Always.

***

( _“It’s over,” she sighed into the phone. The writing was on the wall between her and Ryan, the idea that they might grow old just a damned dream if they couldn’t even stay under the same roof together. She’d just finished discussing it with him, just watched him pack an overnight bag and walk out the door. It felt a little dirty calling Chris, a little like maybe what she’d been accused of was true, but not calling him was like an itch she couldn’t scratch. That was what they did, after all. He’d called her when things were falling apart with Jessica and she’d let him moan for hours. She waited for him to say he’d told her so._

_“I’m sorry,” she heard him say, the empathy in his voice enough to trigger the lump in her throat. “Are you sure?”_

_She was._

_He sent her a bottle of Patron and a basket of limes the next day, a note attached to say that he knew she’d find happiness someday.)_

_(Some months later when he happened to be in the neighborhood, that bottle also happened to be opened and then five shots later, her mouth happened to be wrapped around his dick and he happened to yell out how much he loved her as he came. He was scruffier than she was used to and she remembered vaguely telling him she loved his face, especially when she was sitting on it._

_She apologized the next morning as they shared a pot of coffee, drapes drawn tight, and he pretended he declared his love to anyone when under the influence of tequila.)_

_***_

Scarlett hugged his sister first, before they could take their seats, before the show got started. He stood, hands in pockets like always and smiled and she wanted to embrace him just as she had hundreds of times. Except this time felt precarious. It couldn't be the buzz of the room, she'd been to the Oscars before. Her stomach fluttered sitting next to him, not just because he looked good, that was a give in. Because this was the first time she’d seen him since shit had hit the fan. She’d expected him to sit next to Renner, they’d been awfully chummy in the past few months, but he’d said he’d put in a bid to sit by her. She was playing “Ring Around the Rosie” when he texted her to tell her and when she tossed her phone aside to giggle and tickle her toddler, it was at least because her heart was suddenly bursting.

He looked incredible. As always, no surprise there, but her cheeks burned when she sat next to him. He looked incredible and happy, like his sudden return to bachelorhood had done him well after all. She wanted to touch his deep blue jacket, to wipe away imaginary lint or straighten an imaginary wrinkle. He was the same scruffy as the last time she’d seen him and she remembered how his beard had felt on her skin, the way he swallowed her moans as she curled her fingers against his chin. These were instincts she knew she had to ignore, of course, because the boundary was there. Because to the rest of the world, neither of them had been single long enough. Because she couldn’t handle the scandal, she had enough on her plate already after all.

He smiled whenever she looked his way, his eyes crinkled and every time she cursed the way she lost herself in that. In believing he looked at her like he loved her. Joe said with chagrin as they left their limo that he really was the wrong man for her arm, much as he loved coming to these things. She’d shrugged because who else was she supposed to take? Joe gave her that look that said, _come on we both know who else._

By the way that her date was raising his eyebrow at Shana, Scarlett had to wonder if Chris had been asked the same thing. ( _“Why’re you taking me, take Scarlett? You don’t have to bring one of us every time, Christopher.”_ )

“You look fantastic,” he breathed and she blushed. She _felt_ fantastic, the pink flowy dress she’d chosen reflecting how much lighter she felt this year versus in the last one. How much more free. Rose called it a princess dress and she supposed she felt that way.

“You clean up nice, yourself.”

His eyes swept past the skin on her side, the peak of the rose tattoo that she'd proudly left exposed. He looked like he wanted to touch it then. She wanted that too.

Before the opening beats to “Can’t Stop the Feeling,” his fingers were brushing against hers, that same old spark there. And it was like every other time they'd been together, like they were the only ones in the room. She had one good dance move, a shimmy she thought she could still pull off, and he smiled tight-lipped and eyes dark when she did it. He whispered in her ear and they laughed and she knew it looked, whenever the camera panned their way, like they were together, the dates they’d brought equally ignored.

“When do you present?” He whispered about halfway through. He’d already done his turn and he gave her a mischievous look that made her shiver.

“After Sting,” she answered and let her hand slide against his.

“Let's get out of here, okay? Shana needs to call her kids. I bet you wanna do the same.”

“You aren't asking me to leave early so I call home, Chris.”

He squeezed her hand and looked out, as if to make sure the cameras weren't in their direction. And then he leaned toward her ear. “You really wanna stick around? La La Land is gonna win, okay. There, nothing left to see. Now, let's get out of here. I am betting you have another dress for Vanity Fair and I’d like to be there when you change…”

“Ha,” she grinned. “Of course you would.”

“I'm sure there's a zipper you need help with.”

Scarlett crossed her legs and bumped the toe of her heel against his calf. It was never a good idea but she was already imagining it, skipping the Oscars with Chris Evans. It felt a little like skipping school but that wasn't the kind of thing to stop Scarlett anyway so she looked over at Joe before nodding her head.

***

She’d booked a room at the Roosevelt so that she could change, her hair and makeup waiting and admittedly surprised to see her so early. A quick glance at Chris and they nodded, excusing themselves for the bar downstairs because it was a long night after all.  Scarlett asked for forty-five minutes and as soon as she shut the door, as soon as they were alone and quiet, she let out the breath she’d been holding, her eyes wide on him.

“We are pretty shitty, leaving our dates downstairs,” she said coyly, taking her bangles off and putting them on a coffee table…

“Are you crazy?” he laughed, grabbing her by the wrist to pull her close. “My sister wants us to get married, she says she's worried about my biological clock.”

Scarlett laughed and then hummed because it was always funny to her how he’d go on record saying he wanted a family and then keep sabotaging his own chances to do it. She supposed he had time, men had it easy that way. She was about to remind him that she was the last person he should think to marry when he tipped her chin so that she could meet his eyes.

“Don't,” he said, face suddenly very serious. She shook her head and pretended not to follow but she did. _Don't talk about how it's wrong, how wrong you are for me and we are for each other._ His grasp on her wrist tightened just slightly and she looked down as if the floor might give courage.

“Not tonight,” she finally agreed stood on her toes to feather her lips over his. “We won't tonight.”

_We won't fight, won't argue, won't deny it._

He lifted her arm up so that he could press kisses from her wrist to the crook, his beard lightly scratching, and she gave a small laugh at the joke, her whole body responding to the meaning of it all.

_***_

_“My elbows?” she laughed, pushing him on the bed so that she could kick off her heels and climb over him. “Really?”_

_Chris laughed back and it filled the room. Filled her heart. “Scarlett, it was a bullshit question, what was I supposed to say?”_

_She didn't know so she responded by tickling his ribs. It was a bullshit question, asking him what he thought was the sexiest thing about her, and she’d wanted to throw up when it was asked. She and Chris had been in three movies together previously and she had worked hard for her career, for the roles she'd played, for her reputation as an artist. But at the end of the day, she was still reduced to how her ass fit into the Black Widow’s catsuit. Chris could have given them the answer they were looking for, he’d seen every part of her. But he’d said he loved her elbows and she loved him for it. Loved him for the respect he had always given her, for the respect he gave to her character in the movies (forgiving the Renner incident by a personal apology on his knees)._

_“Besides,” he grinned. “I really do love your elbows.”_

_She couldn't think of anything she would have preferred him to say to the faux-journalist but as she rolled her hips and watched his eyes change color, she found herself wondering what he would really say if allowed to be honest. She knew the parts of her that were marketed and sold as sex but she found herself hoping he loved more than her breasts and her ass._

_He flipped her over and moved between her thighs and kissed her, hard enough that she felt her heart pounding in her throat, the taste of his tongue making her dizzy._

_“I love your elbows,” he repeated before kissing her throat. And then he started cataloging all of the different parts of her that he was also fond of. The spot by her ears. Her lips. Her right breast (“right?” “yeah, I love ‘em both but right one is my favorite”). Her ribs. Every tattoo, his lips making the skin burn almost as if the ink was fresh._

_“And the way you laugh,” he murmured into her skin before meeting her eyes. “Your heart. Your brain, you're so fucking smart…”_

_“Am I? I’m not so sure,” she responded, her thoughts on the small bump of her stomach that he was pressing gentle kisses against. He paused and looked up, brow furrowed in concern._

_“You don’t have to marry the guy, you know that.”_

_Scarlett looked at the ceiling and tried to control the emotion building in her throat because getting a lecture was definitely not sexy. The truth was that she wanted it, wanted this child to have a family and stability and could very easily see those things with Romain. He was patient and level-headed and he’d make a good father._

_“Scarlett, you don’t have to marry him,” Chris repeated, his voice harder and she thought maybe a little bit desperate. “You could… I could…”_

_She pulled herself up on her forearms so she could look at him. “Could what? Do you wanna marry me, Chris?”_

_“Yes,” he said with a swallow, grabbing her hand, the one with the ring that said she belonged to someone else, and she groaned because he was being ridiculous. And yet, when she really looked at him and saw how earnest he was, she almost said she loved him. Almost, the words on the tip of her tongue even though she knew better, knew there was no way for them to be anything more than this. She arched her back as he kissed her skin and thought about how old they were, how old they’d gotten, how much they’d grown up. And she tried not to get mad at herself for how much it felt like an addiction, whatever this was, she tried not to think about how stupid they got whenever they got close. They were like magnets, weren’t they? At any other time, she could stop thinking of him. Could move on and try to make things work with someone else. She could forget about him and whatever this was until he was in the same room as her talking about her elbows, and then she was lost._

_***_

They only had an hour, and that was cutting it close, but Scarlett prayed that every second would be slow. She breathed carefully, inhaling and exhaling with intention, as she unbuckled her belt and lay it on the bed beside him. Chris watched her, his eyes hooded and hungry, his hands grasping the hotel comforter like he was holding himself back. Like he wanted to touch. They both knew he couldn’t.

She watched his chest rise and fall as she lifted the layers of cloth over her head. He took his jacket off and laid it gingerly on the bed beside her belt before taking her dress and placing it down as well. Scarlett stood there, in her slip, her eyes on the small pile and then he pulled her close, warm hands on her hips and she all but melted.

“I love this one,” he said as his fingers touched the leaves of the rose on her rib cage. “For Rosie.”

“Yes,” she said, eyes fluttering closed as one hand trailed the silk of her slip carefully as if he was molding her, as if every inch was something to respect and venerate. They couldn’t do much, there was no time, but when his fingers began tracing her nipples through the cloth, she started negotiating with herself as if maybe it wouldn’t matter at all.

“Are you staying in LA for awhile?” he asked and she nodded because she’d brought her whole family, the goal to get some sunshine and spend some time before the tour for _Ghost in the Shell_ made it hard.

“So you can come over.”

“The baby…” she protested lightly, looking for a reason to say no because that was part of the game that they always played. He sighed and moved his hands below her slip to her thighs.

“Bullshit, she can play with Dodger, they’ll love each other.”

Scarlett laughed and grabbed his shoulders for support because he’d nudged her legs apart and was sliding her panties aside so that he could slip two fingers into where it was wet and hot, to where she was suddenly aching. She tried to meditate on her breathing, on the way he smelled and the sounds of the quiet room, anything to slow down the time they were stealing. He was always this way, making these kinds of suggestions as if them making something official would be easy. She imagined her daughter, running around his house with a dog, the sound of her feet and her squeals filling the air.

“Maybe if we go slow,” she said, as if to convince herself and he laughed lightly.

“I think thirteen years counts as slow enough.”

Scarlett remembered each of those years and every excuse made, every good reason. He looked up, fingers paused and his eyes on hers like he was waiting for her to refute what he said and again say no to what he was asking for. She couldn't. There was no good reason anymore and so she tipped his chin up and kissed his lips, letting that be the answer. A careful and timid _yes_ against the question of whether or not he could have his chance at her heart. As if he hadn't had it since the beginning.  

They’d had thirteen years of kisses. Thirteen years of memorizing each other and so she knew he knew where to touch her, the parts of her that made her fall apart, even after all these years. He was, in so many ways, her best friend and maybe that was what made it even more sweet, kissing him in the darkened hotel room, the sounds of Hollywood right outside. Everyone would be looking and talking, secrets were hard to keep, the price paid for being an actor.  It was a heavy price and she felt a tinge of anxiety and panic, her mind flashing to pictures of her and every other man she’d been with, pictures of her and Rose, pictures of her when she was at her most vulnerable. She wasn’t sure she wanted that with Chris and her heart sped up, slowing down only when he kissed her again, this time pulling her onto his lap and holding her tight in his arms.

“Shhh…” he whispered and she fingered the buttons on his shirt, her eyes shut tight and her breathing slowed. He was asking her, in his kisses, in the way he held her, to block it all out. For the short time that they had, outside could wait.

It was a liminal space, a threshold between what they were and what they could be. Outside didn’t matter, all that mattered was the careful way she slipped each button through its’ hole or the way he looked at her, as if in awe, as she lifted her slip over her head and let him see her. He’d seen her too many times to count and yet this time, with them both unattached and the possibility of something more finally there, she saw love in his eyes. She supposed she’d always seen it and just never wanted to believe it was there.

“The girls are going to hate me for this,” she whispered, thinking of hair and makeup and the hustle they’d do to get her ready. Not that it mattered.

He’d always been the best of them, she thought with a sigh as he moved her so that she was laying on the bed alongside their clothes, her eyes watching as he took off his undershirt and his pants, his own gaze never leaving hers. It was funny how much this time felt almost spiritual. Intentional. As if all of the feelings they’d both pushed aside were finally let go, a dam broke and the flood overwhelming her. Him too, she thought as she watched the emotion on his face. The way he looked as he climbed toward her, his body covering hers and his skin hot, the reminder that this was real and happening.

“I love you,” he said, positioned to enter her, his palm against her cheek. “I think I always have.”

Scarlett leaned into his hand and nodded. “You are the reason I’m so shitty with relationships, Chris. Every time I try, I hear the same thing. I’ve had so many men tell me that there’s this part of my heart that they can’t reach. You know why? Because you have that piece. You have my heart.”

The rest of the world faded away when he pressed against her, hard and hot, and they both moaned for that first feel, first contact. “Go slow,” she asked quietly, wanting time to stop, wanting to hold on to the moment forever. She watched him, admired the flex of his muscles and the feel of his arms as she gripped his biceps and squeezed around him instinctively. Her body betrayed her, hips bucking up impatiently, as if his slow and patient thrusts were torture. She tried to still the hunger by kissing whatever she could find. His throat, his shoulder, his arms. He was clean but she focused on the salt of his skin as he moved, as he made love to her, and the smell of Old Spice and skin. She’d asked him to go slow but he gripped her thigh and started thrusting deeper and she was suddenly too hungry, too hot, too impatient for unhurried.

They moved together like music, her hips rolling to meet his, the urgency building with every thrust. He whispered in her ear how much he loved her and she tried and failed not to cry. She needed it, needed him, needed and wanted what he was asking for and she was terrified but she was also relieved. They’d been dancing around it so long and when she told him she loved him, when she grit her teeth, orgasm almost there, she felt relieved. _Finally._

“I love you,” he repeated, burying his head into her neck, voice strained as he got closer. “Please stay, Scarlett…”.

She clenched around him again, her eyes on his and her heart pounding. Where else would she go? There was no one else, nowhere else. The rest of the world could go fuck itself right then as far as she was concerned, her body on fire and broken moans because he felt so good, because he knew every spot, knew her, knew when she was close and knew that after all of the excuses and distractions, she was his and he was hers.

His pace stuttered right as she came, his name on her lips and her body on fire. He finished right after and she squeezed around him on instinct, as if trying to draw out every drop of his release, as if that would make every moment last longer.

It was over too soon. She shuddered against him and he panted into her hair, his heart beating so hard she swore she could feel it. It was over way too soon and she anticipated, on memories and past experiences, for the real world to come crashing down. For the familiar shuffle as they both remembered why they’d never before tried to make it work.

Instead, he reached for her hand, squeezing it tight and when she looked over, she knew he hadn't changed his mind.

She squeezed his hand back and it felt like she was making the first choice since she could ever remember that didn't feel like a mistake. It felt like the choice she had wanted to make all along, the layers of fear peeled back because this time, she was sure.

“I love you,” she said for the first time out loud, feeling suddenly grateful. How many chances had they had and how many times had they fought it? She moved so that she could drape one leg over him, so that she could look him in the eye and say it again.

It was the sound of cellphones buzzing that broke the spell and brought them back to reality. Messages from Shana and Joe to ask if they’d died, a missed call from one of the girls downstairs reminding her that they had a tight schedule. Scarlett kissed his chest right over his heart before moving, her body sore and everything messy. He followed her lead and whenever they glanced over at each other, they both laughed as if drunk. This wasn't the first time they'd stolen time but she felt different, felt sacred.

They giggled like teenagers as they got dressed and she relished every kiss as he helped her with her dress, a black one that she’d chosen for the second half of the night.  He slipped out before anyone arrived, promising his sister was going to lecture him for being late. When he left, she licked her lips, still tasting him.

***

It was later that week, after Rose met Dodger, when it was hard to tell who was more excited between the two of them, that Scarlett breathed in to the possibility of what might happen. He held her hand and twirled her in his kitchen and she believed in the happy ending.

***

The fear had always been the judgment, the way the paps might spin things, the way fans might accuse her of being all sorts of inappropriate. And that did happen. Accusations that he’d ruined not one but two marriages. Accusations that she’d somehow come between him and his last relationship. Rumors that were painful and hit close to home.

But there was also overwhelming support, many calling their love legendary. He asked her to marry him a month after some asshole photog snapped them kissing in the parking lot at a restaurant on Vine. Her hand was possessively in his back jeans pocket at the time, luckily hiding the ring he’d given her.

She said yes, of course, even though the engagement lasted four fucking years, though he waited patiently, as if he knew in the end that she wasn't going anywhere.

 


End file.
